


Nobody Knows

by MysticMoonhigh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Angst, Bar Scene, Bars, Blowjobs, Emotional, Flashbacks of Dean's hell life, Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Sex, Sex, Torture, Wincest - Freeform, a little bit of angst, short-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticMoonhigh/pseuds/MysticMoonhigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean rely on each other, more than any two brothers rightfully should. They can't really help it, though. <br/>After all, when they're out in public, nobody has to know they're brothers.<br/>((Christmas gift for SamuelBartholdy))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discoveries at the Hands of Threesome

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jungjeons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungjeons/gifts).



> This is for my lovely best friend 'SamuelBartholdy'. You can find him ["here"](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SamuelBartholdy)   
> He's a much better writer than I am and if you enjoy this fic, you should check out some of his stuff!

Sam and Dean didn't like to acknowledge what happened, at first. It was a touchy topic, to be avoided at all costs. They tip-toed around the subject, they pretended like it had never happened, they barely spoke for a little while.

But things never stay that way for long, do they?

The situation was this; they'd gone out to get drunk, and succeeded gloriously. In their drunken stupor and haze of lust, they picked up a girl. One girl. One very small, very pliant and eager body to fit perfectly between them as they thrust into her together, barely able to keep any kind of rhythm through the broken haze of alcohol. She didn't mind, though. She was too busy making very enthusiastic sounds and movements herself.

That wasn't what bothered them, though. That was usual, brush it off with a smile, it's-not-gay-if-it's-a-three-way type shit. But the problem was what happened when they came.

They had been making eye contact over her shoulder the entire time, locked in a gaze full of heat and lust and self-indulgence. Dean had tried to ignore the way his cock throbbed more when he heard Sam's voice than it did when he heard the girl's, but ultimately failed. Sam had been resisting the urge to run his hands over his brother's skin, to knot them in his hair, to pull him close and never let go, as if this body wasn't between them. The heat and tension and pure, drunken _want_ in their eyes had been too much to handle.

As they came, one of them (though neither could say who) leaned forward and connected their slightly parted lips, groaning their release into each other's mouths.

Which, of course, was a problem for them.

It was awkward. The girl had gone home the next morning enthusiastically raving about what a good time she'd had the night before, (which only grated on Dean's hungover mind, still cloudy with confusion and a vague sense of regret involving the kiss) and they'd barely been able to make eye contact. Dean figured Sam would have an emotional talk about respecting personal space and then leave it alone, but that wasn't what happened.

They just... stopped talking for a little while. Both of them were too nervous to broach the subject, both too shy about something that was so  _wrong._ After all, when you're banging a girl's brains out, the last thing you want to do is cum with your tongue down your brother's throat, or vise-versa. There was no way either of them was going to bring up the weird taboo or the fact that they'd barely looked at the girl. Neither would bring up that they used to kiss each other for comfort when their dad's back was turned. Neither would bring anything of the sort up.

But even the most carefully constructed dams will crack eventually. The ones holding back their feelings and the  _sinful_ urges that they harbored were faulty and cracked at best. Things, emotions, desires, were all bound to overflow and break whatever hold the two had placed on them.

It was a sad kind of waiting, knowing that one day they would eventually break.

The one who ended the silence first was, surprisingly, Dean. He couldn't stand how  _alone_ he felt without his brother there, by his side. He had sworn to himself over and over that it was best to just let the other person come to you first, but Sammy had always been Dean's weakness.

He brought home a big bag of burgers, greasy fries, and skin mags (those, of course, weren't to share). He plopped the burgers down and sat down himself, eyes flickering up to where Sam was typing away on his laptop. His lips pursed in displeasure at the sight of his brother pointedly still ignoring him. Sammy looked tired, and Dean knew that he was. He was tired of avoiding someone who had been his best friend.

“Hey, I , uh, got us some burgers.” Dean said, finally breaking the silence between them. Sam's eyes shot up from whatever he had been typing, and a small smile appeared on his face. It was vague and passing, but Dean caught every single millisecond of it and stored it away for later.

“Thanks, dude.” Sam said, shutting his laptop. Dean turned back towards the bag and got out his own meal, eating it in large bites as Sam sat down at the table across from him. He reached into the bag himself and got what was left of the food, unwrapping the burger.

They ate in what was mostly silence. The occasional crinkling of a wrapper was, for the most part, ignored. The low hum of the television and the occasional satisfied grunt from Dean were the background noise for their thoughts. Both were in the same place, but neither wanted to say anything about it. Not when things finally seemed to be going back to normal.

They started with lighter conversation, getting back into the swing of things.

“You know, they're playing a new Game of Thrones episode tonight.” Sam said, conversationally. Dean made a vague noise in response, unable to talk around his mouth full of food. He took a moment to swallow, holding up one of his fingers to show Sam that he would soon.

“Are we gonna watch it?” He questioned, hoping that the answer was yes. If they had something to talk about like that, maybe the last tendrils of awkwardness that were clinging to the two of them would finally unfurl and disperse.

“Hell yeah.” Sam said, as if it had been obvious. All Dean really cared about was that his smile was back in place.

Until, of course, Jamie and Circe started fucking on screen.

Dean's mouth went dry as he watched their slicked lips move against one another, bodies pressed up, skin searing across skin in a dance of passion. He couldn't help but be brought back to the other night and suddenly, he glanced over at Sammy, unable to help himself.

What had this become? He'd had these kinds of urges for awhile now. He'd been able to ignore it for the most part, but they'd been getting worse and worse. He'd started picking up girls at bars that looked like Sammy. He'd started really  _listening_ when Sam took showers, hoping to hear muffled groans and moans through the doors. He'd been staring at his skin for too long, and feeling his own body respond to the stimuli. 

He thought he'd pushed this far, far away. He knew in the back of his head that it was still there, that gnawing hunger that he never could and never would get close enough to Sam. The part of him that kept him laying awake at night and remembering the kisses and hugs of their childhood, at the time so innocent. The part of him that whispered sweet nothing's into his ear, and harbored Sam's voice.

When Dean looked over, he found Sam looking at him, too.

He looked away, a jolt going through his body like lightning as his heart sped up. It raced in his chest, pushing and pounding against his rib cage painfully fast. Every nerve in his body felt on edge as he felt Sam's eyes still trained on him, still watching to see if he'd glance back. Dean ignored the fact that he was hardening in his jeans.

The episode ended, and Dean breathed out a sigh of relief. He threw himself back onto the bed, feeling just a little bit disgusted in himself for the fantasies playing through his head. He tightened his lips and rolled over, grabbing a pillow and forcing it over his head and face. He smiled a little bit when he heard Sammy's sweet chuckle, knowing that his brother was shaking his head.

“Dean, for the last time, you can't pillow fight yourself and pretend it's a college girl.” Sam teased. Dean moved the pillow off of his face and narrowed his eyes at his little brother, a smile breaking across his lips.

Sam knew to duck before the pillow was even thrown, and it missed his head by a good three inches. He quickly grabbed the spare one on his bed and chucked it back, hitting Dean in the head. Dean let out a small growl of annoyance and grabbed the pillow next to him, feet hitting the floor as he rose to Sammy's challenge.

Sam's hands closed around the pillow next to him, and they met in midair. Dean let out a playful growl as he broke off their pillows.

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall. There's no way you'll get up once I knock you down.” Dean said, playfully. Sam was standing too, now, circling Dean, copying his steps. His eyes were narrowed as he calculated, waiting for Dean's next attack.

“We'll just see who knocks who down first.” Sam teased, his eyes alight with the challenge of taking on his big brother.

The world exploded into a sea of playful hits and feathers and laughter, “bitch” and “jerk” yelled at the top of voices as they reverted back to a simpler time in life, a time when they were younger.

Dean ran and tackled Sam to the bed, his legs splaying and sitting comfortably on either side of Sam's torso. He managed to grab Sam's pillow and threw it as far away as he could on short notice, and then promptly began to assault his brother's face with hits of his own pillow while Sam desperately reached for his own. Both of them were squirming and laughing and smiling, and Sam decided that he'd had quite enough.

He grabbed Dean's pillow, managing to wrestle that away from his brother and throw it by his own. Both of them spent a few seconds breathing too hard and giggling a little too much, neither bothering to move from the vaguely compromising position. When Sam was finally able to stop his laughter, he looked up at his brother with deep affection.

Dean found himself leaning down, hands placed on either side of Sam's head. He found their faces much too close, and he couldn't find it in himself to care. Sam's breath ghosted over his lips and Dean closed his eyes.

To this day, he's not sure whether or not the lips against his own were imagined or not.

What he is certain of, though, is that he got up. He separated himself from the warmth that his brother brought, walking over to his bed with his face set in rigid lines.

How fucking disgusting was he. Dean, good little soldier boy, fantasizing about fucking his baby brother into the mattress. He could only imagine the kind of sick and twisted things that their father would call him if he were still alive; and he knew deep down that he would deserve every last one of them. There was no saving him from this hellbent road of endless lust and repression, nothing he could do to satisfy his cravings for something that he knew well he could never have.

“I'm tired.” He grunted, as he dropped himself back down onto the bed. It was a lame excuse and both of them knew it. There were a few moments of silence, and Dean actually thought that Sam wasn't going to say anything.

But, the blissful silence never lasted long enough.

“We need to talk, Dean.” Sam said, his voice shaking. Dean flinched at the sound of it, as if it were his own personal nails on a chalkboard.

That wasn't the voice of someone who wanted to get an awkward conversation out of the way. That was the voice of someone who had noticed Dean's half-hard cock pressed against his thigh moments before, and wanted to voice their disgust with the issue. That was the voice of someone who was about to tell you they couldn't stand to be around you anymore because your fucked up desires sickened them. That was the voice of Sammy from a time when they were younger, from when he was still insecure. That was the voice of a Sammy afraid to lose Dean.

And the realization terrified him.

“No, no we don't.” Dean said, slowly. Sam sat up in the other bed, and Dean flinched.

“Yeah, yeah we do. Dean, this isn't something we can keep avoiding. We full on made out, Dean-” Sam started, but Dean couldn't hear any more. He got up off the bed and ran to the door, fumbling with the handle as he tried to get it open. His heart was pounding in his ears as the fear of where this whole thing was going threatened to choke him, threatened to steal the air from his lungs until he was gasping and begging for release.

The night air hit him like a sledgehammer, but his lungs felt bigger when he shut the door behind him. His feet hit the sidewalk, already starting a nice rhythm to combat the chill of the night.

He only counted to seven until Sam was outside, a shadow falling over him.

The silence was, again, a little longer than Dean expected. “When you're ready to stop running from this, I'm here.” Sam started, his voice catching in his throat. “I know this isn't the easiest conversation we've had but we need to talk, Dean.”

Dean turned towards him, and he could practically feel tears glistening in his eyes. He briefly got angry with himself, berating himself for crying like this. He should be stronger, and it only added to his self-loathing that he couldn't be.

“Listen, Sammy,” He started. He didn't want to lose his brother, god, not when everything else seemed to blurr together without him. “We can just take some time apart. I'm sorry that it's like this man, I really am. But if you just give me three months I can drown myself in beer and pool and women, and I'll forget that those thoughts ever popped into my head. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sor-”

Dean never got to finish his sentence. In practically the blink of an eye, Sam was kissing him. Lips were heatedly pressing against his own in the dark, another body pushing against his. Sam's huge hands practically covered his entire face when they went up to cup it, holding Dean still.

Despite the cold, it was like Dean had lava in his veins.

He kissed back, lips moving with the same fever that Sam's had taken on. It was like electricity, it was like the air was crackling with the perfect storm, it was the moment of peace in the eye of the hurricane, and Dean felt like he was going to die then and there, just with Sam's lips.

When they finally broke away, they were panting heavily. Sam's hands were still cupping Dean's face, and Dean leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. If this was some kind of a dream, maybe a djin spell, he would want to make it the best it could be while it lasted. He didn't want to think, didn't want to talk. All he wanted was more of Sam, more of breathing him in like air, more of these kisses in dark alleyways and whispered exchanges in the backs of bars.

But, being the brother that Dean knew and loved, Sam had to say something. Sam had to define boundaries. It was one of the places where they balanced each other out.

“Dean, how long have you felt this way?” Sam asked, his voice coming out low and steady. Dean had to take a moment to let the words sink in, to make sure that he understood it all after the whirlwind of emotion he'd been through in the last few hours.

“As long as I can remember. I didn't realize what it was until four or five years ago, though.” He clarified. Sam let out a small laugh, his head coming forward so that their foreheads were lightly resting against one another's.

“Why the hell did it take us so long to figure it out?” Sam questioned, and Dean could feel his forehead wrinkle against his own as Sammy smile. Dean couldn't help but return it, fighting off the sick feeling in his stomach that came from the knowledge that he'd just made out with his baby brother.

“Because you're a bitch?” Dean asked smoothly, hopefully avoiding a chick-flick moment.

Sam scoffed.

“Don't you even go there, jerk.”

~~~

A couple of months later, and they hadn't honestly done much. Dean had made up lame excuses, being tired or having too much alcohol in his system to maintain an erection. Sam figured out about a week ago that there was something more factoring into the equation; and it worried him. It worried him a lot.

They'd kissed. Actually, they'd kissed plenty. Pretty much every kind of kiss you can have without stepping up into a more sexual territory. They'd held hands, they'd hugged, they'd said 'I love you' a couple of times. But Sam was sick of that. He'd waited far too long thinking that Dean didn't like him back to keep waiting for anything more without a damn good reason.

No more waiting. Tonight, they were either going to have sex, or Dean was going to tell him what was wrong.

The door swung open as Dean walked in, a case of beer in his hands. Sam quickly crossed the room to where he was standing, closing the door behind him so that Dean wouldn't have to get it. Dean glanced confusedly over his shoulder, but dismissed it and continued on his way to the table.

As soon as the beer was set down, Sam was on him. Sam swallowed Dean's surprised sound as he pushed his tongue past his brother's lips, feeling that undeniable _spark_. Dean slowly caught up to what was happening and he leaned into the kiss, body relaxing.

Sam's hands started on his chest. As their kissing became heavier and heavier, they began to drift downwards. By the time his fingers looped in Dean's belt loops and pulled him closer, Sam could already feel his half-hard cock pressing against his thigh. Dean let out a very small, absolutely beautiful moan. Sam smiled against his brother's lips, assuming that he was probably going to reach his goal.

That is, until Dean's lusty trance broke. His hands wrapped firmly around Sam's wrists and he pulled them off, shaking his head in attempt to clear it. Sam's stomach sank to his feet when Dean cleared his throat.

“I'm gonna go and take a cold shower.” He announced, trying to push past his brother. Sam stepped with him, not letting him go.

“No, no you're not. You're going to tell me why we haven't had sex yet.” Sam said, evenly. He couldn't even try to mask the hurt in his voice. “I clearly turn you on. It's been established that I'm consenting. Hell, I've initiated most of the making out. If you're not trying to jump into my pants already, it's because something's wrong, Dean. I need to know what that is.”

Dean's face fell. He blinked, hard, looking down. When he had finally determined that there was no way out of this, he huffed a great sigh and stumbled back, sitting down hard in one of the chairs. Sam stayed where he was, not wanting to overstress what was already tense.

“It's because you're my _brother,_ Sam. It's so, so fucking wrong that I spend half my jerk-off time imagining your lips wrapped around my cock. How the hell is that healthy? I should be protecting you, not, not-- _not_ teaching you how to take a cock in your ass.” Dean hissed. Sam paused, reading the disgust written on his face.

“You know, blood is just blood, Dean.” Sam reminded him, slowly. “Family doesn't end in blood; it goes deeper than that. What we have is more than DNA.” He said. Dean looked up then, slowly meeting his eyes. “None of what we do is healthy. None of what we do is _ever_ going to be healthy. Dean, you shouldn't feel this way. You only have so much good in your life, why would you take that away just because you feel some kind of duty to protect me.”

“Sammy, I just-”

“No, Dean. I'm an adult, and I can make my own damn decisions. You don't have to do it anymore.” Sam said, looking at Dean evenly. “If you don't fuck me, somebody else will. I'd like you to take care of this.” Sam said, gesturing towards his tented pants.

Dean's eyes darkened with arousal under the suggestion.

He took a few steps forward, hands shaking as they fell to rest on Sam's hips. Sam closed the distance between them, tilting his head back to reveal his neck. Dean got the hint easily enough and began to suck dark red marks into Sam's throat, moaning as his brother began rutting their hips together.

“Do you like, this, Dean? Do you like knowing your little brother's cock is hard for you?” Sam questioned, hoping that he was right. Dean's cock twitched against his, and he smirked. Hell yeah, he was right.

The fucker had an incest kink, that was for sure.

He rolled his hips against Dean's once more, letting out a loud sound of pleasure as it added even more friction against his straining cock. Dean's lips pulled off of his neck with a wet _pop_ and moved down to his shoulder, kissing it through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Sam got the hint easily enough and the t-shirt was slipped over his head, regretfully making him step back from Dean's warm body for a moment.

“Do you wanna do this properly, or do you want me to grind against you until we both cum in our pants?” Dean growled, as he returned. Sam chuckled at his brother's eagerness; this was clearly Dean's way of telling him to get the show on the fucking road. Sam was more than ready to do the same, but he decided that this would be a hell of a lot more fun.

He would have his brother's cock inside of him, but maybe not just yet.

He shoved Dean's shoulders back, causing him to stumble backwards until his ass hit the counter. Sam's body followed, heat rolling off the two of them in waves as their bare skin warmed. His hands came up to frame Dean's face, splaying out on the hardwood cabinets, making it impossible to move. Their denim-clad cocks rubbed against one another's as Sam pressed his hips forward.

Dean hissed as Sam said, “Why not? Are you afraid you wouldn't be able to handle it? Are you gonna be embarrassed when you cum first?”

“Fuck no.” Dean hissed, bucking his own hips up in a rapid movement. His breath started coming quicker as he looked into Sam's deep brown eyes. “You're gonna cum with my name on your lips, Sammy.”

There was no more talking after that. Sam began to slowly cant his hips upwards, creating a slow and steady pace for Dean to follow. Dean soon began to thrust with equal enthusiasm, his hips occasionally straying to the side and causing sharp gasps to come out of both of them as their rhythm broke, coming just a little bit faster than it had been before.

Dean's fingers turned white as he grasped the counter top, biting his lip hard. He knew that Sammy wasn't used to speed like he was, (Sam preferred to take it nice and slow with most of the girls he had been with) so Dean figured that he could use that to his advantage. He gave a couple of hard and fast thrusts against Sam, and his brother's hip movements stuttered.

Dean found lips crushing against his own, and all reserve and self control flew straight out of the fucking window.

Dean's hips rutted up against Sam's at a feral pace as Sam's tongue explored its way around his mouth, delving into every crack and crevice. Sam's own hips practically matched Dean's pace, causing Dean to gasp and groan at every thrust upwards. Sam swallowed every delicious sound that he made, his hands falling from their position on the counter to Dean's hips.

He lifted Dean up so that he was sitting on the counter, and Dean's legs spread of their own accord to let him in. Sam adjusted his pace to go just a little bit faster, to adjust for the fact that only one of them was moving now.

Of course, that wasn't really true. Dean was making small thrusts of his hips that would have caused him to fall off of the counter had Sam not had his hips squeezed in an almost bruising hold, keeping him where he was. He moaned enthusiastically as Sam's pace started to falter, the unexpected, short thrusts keeping him on thew edge. He felt like his skin was on fire as he rubbed up against his denim, breaking from Sam's sloppy kiss so that he could breathe.

“God,Sam.” He groaned, throwing his head back. Sam only increased his pace, and Dean couldn't take it any longer.

His hands grasped at Sam's arms as he shamelessly rutted against Sam through his orgasm, letting out a loud cry of his name. His hips kept moving as his vision turned white, and Sam was the only thing keeping him from bucking himself right off the counter and onto the floor. Sam felt his brother's cock pulsing against him, and he had to bite his lip to keep from cumming himself. Winning the contest would be so fucking worth it.

Eventually, Dean's hips stilled, and he let his body go lax against Sam's. His mind was blissfully blank for a couple of seconds as he digested through everything that had just happened. Once it all clicked for him, he let out a small groan.

“Fuck.” He said, taking a deep breath and lifting his head up. Sam was staring at him with a wolfish grin, eyes glistening with playfullness.

“Well Dean, who came with who's name on who's lips?” He questioned, raising his eyebrows. Dean rolled his eyes, shoving Sam away to let his body slip off of the counter top.

“I'm gonna go clean this up.” Dean mumbled, darkly. Sam chuckled and grabbed his brother by the belt loops, pulling him back.

“I don't think so. You lost, which means I get to pick how you get me off now.” Sam declared. Dean rolled his eyes, but he didn't protest. He did sort of want to see Sammy cum still, and he could probably deal with whatever Sam wanted him to do.

“And how do you propose I do that?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“I want you to suck me off.” Sam stated, bluntly. Dean glanced down to his brother's hand, which was currently undoing his pants.

“Fine.” Dean growled, pretending like he didn't _really fucking love_ the sound of that. Dean slowly began to drop down to his knees, placing warm kisses along Sam's torso as he went.

“You know, you seem really enthusiastic for someone who wants to pretend like they don't like the idea.” Sam said, smiling a little bit. Dean growled again and mumbled something that Sam couldn't quite understand, but none of that mattered right then.

Dean was finally on his knees in front of Sam, looking up at his cock with reverence. Sam didn't fail to catch the small flick of his tongue outwards, wetting his lips in anticipation for it.

Dean's swollen lips, those _perfect cocksucking lips_ , wrapped around the head of Sam's cock. Sam buried his fingers in his brother's hair and gave a very small tug, unable to get much of a pull with how short it was. Of course, Dean still got the message.

Dean took Sam deeper into his mouth, slipping down as far as he could go.

Sam was giving small pants and keens at this point, his hips fucking themselves into Dean's mouth of their own accord. He was already so damn _close,_ and Dean relaxed his throat and took Sam _all the way the fuck in_ , and it was absolute heaven. The heat and his brother's tongue slowly sliding along his veins had Sam whimpering and thrusting in small movements, his muscles shaking as they burned with the upcoming release.

Dean let out a small moan in the back of his throat, looking up at Sam through lusty eyes, and that was fucking _it._

Sam came in long, hard spurts, and Dean drank up everything he had to offer. His hips continued to work as the pleasure seared through his veins, pushing all of his thoughts straight to a short circuit. His hips continued to thrust and Dean continued to relax his throat as he rode out his orgasm.

Finally, all of it stopped. His hips gave a weak twitch as Dean pulled off of his dick, a small drop of cum that he hadn't quite been able to swallow glistening on his lower lip.

He worked his way back up Sam's body and kissed him passionately. The taste was that of semen and saliva and Dean himself, and Sam knew that if he hadn't just cum he would be hard as fuck again in no time.

They stood like that for a few more minutes, though Sam knew that Dean was uncomfortable in the drying cum that was almost certainly crusted and itchy on his skin by now. He appreciated it; he appreciated that his brother knew that he wanted to kiss and have a few moments of peace after sex. He knew that Dean wouldn't be sacrificing this time and his comfort for anyone else, and that meant a lot to him.

Dean pulled away, a trail of saliva connecting their lips.

“I have to go take a shower now.” He said, gruffly. His voice was pretty and fucked-out. Sam thought he could listen to it all day long, and decided that throat-fucking his brother was definitely something he wanted to try again.

“Okay, that's okay. Actually, I might jump in there with you, if that's okay.” Sam added quickly. He didn't want to make Dean feel like he didn't have any space.

He worried that he shouldn't have asked when Dean took awhile to respond. However, his Cheshire grin and his words reassured Sam that he was still just fine.

“Well then, Sammy, it sounds like somebody's hoping for a round two.”

 


	2. Smith and Smith; No Relation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, if you enjoy this, please go check out my bestie's fics. Link in the first author's note.

Their ID badges glowed in the light as they pulled them out, flashing them in front of the young widow's face. Her eyes were rimmed in red from crying, and emotion still choked her voice as she spoke.

“What do you want?” She questioned, glaring at both of them.

“We just want to ask some questions, ma'am.” Sam stated. “I'm agent Smith.”

“I'm... also, agent Smith. No relation.” Dean added in, after being prompted by Sam's elbow pressed firmly into his ribcage.

They pushed their badges forward again at the same time, the fake cards swinging briefly before they both flipped them closed again. The woman still looked weary, but they found the door pulling itself open as she stepped out of the way. They spared but a glance towards each other, Dean gesturing for Sam to go in first.

The house seemed crisp. It had that feeling in the air of desperation. Every surface was free of blemish or misplaced item, as if nobody was really living here at all. Of course, Dean and Sam weren't worried. No, they had seen this kind of thing a thousand times before. Somebody has to find a way to distract themselves, once what they love is gone. Sam had, in fact, found himself keeping more tidy while Dean was in hell.

Dean's days in hell were not something that he wanted to think about.

She lead them through, occasionally allowing her hands to stray and straighten something up. Eventually they reached the living room, and she gestured for them to take the couch. They spared another small glance at each other before sitting down, listening to the creak of the old furniture as they did.

She reached forward to grab a tissue off of the glass-top coffee table, throwing it into a small trashcan next to the love seat.

“We, have a few questions about your husband's death. We'll try not to take up much of your time, miss.” Sam said, ever the compassionate one. Dean remained silent. Sammy was better with connecting to the victims than he was, and they had found that it just worked better when one of them did the talking.

“Okay, go ahead. I want to get this over with.” The woman responded.

There was a time when Dean would have found her attractive. She had long blonde hair and expressive blue eyes that he just _knew_ would light up during orgasm. But now, things had changed. He didn't think about people like that anymore. Really, the only person he'd found his thoughts straying to sexually was... Sam.

“So, there have been more killings than just his?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows. Dean tuned back into the situation at hand. He hadn't thought there had been a case here, but apparently he had been wrong. Or at least, if Sam's tone of voice had anything to say about it. “Have you noticed any kind of a pattern?”

“Well, I... I suppose there is a pattern.” She admitted, looking down and swallowing. “It happens about every four weeks. The papers say that the killer is taking their hearts. I'm not sure why the FBI are involved in this, it looks to them like a serial killer case.”

“Well, ma'am, I'd say that the police don't quite know what they're doing in this situation.” Sam said, putting every ounce of his concentrated sass into his words. Dean resisted the sudden urge to snort; his brother had the mannerisms of a teenage girl sometimes.

“Well, I don't honestly care who gets it done, I just want closure. Thank you, agent.” She said, standing with them.

“No, thank you. You've really helped this investigation.” Sam told her, looking soulfully into her eyes. Dean resisted the urge to gag. Dear lord, what did it take to get some good old fashioned butt-kicking around here? They've ran into three dead ends in a row, and he was _so fucking ready_ to make some evil sunuva bitch swallow it's own tongue. And it sounded like werewolf was on the menu tonight.

“Good luck.” The woman waved at them, from her doorway. Dean waved back.

Suddenly, something bumped into his shoulder. He turned around, taking a moment to steady himself. A girl wearing a multi-colored beanie hat with large brown eyes gazed up at him. She couldn't have been much older than sixteen, but she was dressed like she was twenty-five. Not that Dean would judge, of course.

“Who are you?” She questioned, narrowing her eyes. Dean turned towards Sam, signaling with a small flick of his wrist to get out their badges again.

“FBI, investigating a murder. I'm agent Smith and this is agent Smith, no relation.” Sam clarified, clearing his throat. The girl looked back and forth between them for a moment, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“So you two are like, a couple or something?” She questioned, crossing her arms over her shoulders. Dean's eyes widened, and the refusal sat right on the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah, yeah we are.” Sam blurted, from beside him. Dean turned around partially, hoping that he didn't look as confused as he felt right then. Sam looked at him and shrugged. Apparently he must have been giving something away, because Sam said, “There's no point in hiding it.”

“That's weirdly cute.” The girl said, nodding her head in approval. Dean felt a very small blush creep up on him, and he ignored it in favor of looking at the ground. “I'm renting a room at this house. I'm in town for a little while and the woman was nice enough to let me stay. It's a shame what happened to her husband.”

“Oh, really?” Sam asked. Dean looked up from the ground sharply, raising his eyebrows. “How long have you been here?”

“About four months, give or take a few days.” She said. She stuck out her hand at this point, a clear invitation. “My name is Caroline, by the way.”

“Well, it's nice to meet you, Caroline.” Sam said, nodding to her. She smiled in return, her whole face lighting up as Sam's hand firmly grasped her own. “You stay safe, you got it?”

“Got it. See you around.” She responded, one last nod in their direction before she was walking up the steps. She used a key to get through the door, shutting and locking it behind her. Dean turned to Sam, ready for what was coming. He knew he deserved it.

“I told you there was a case here.” Sam said, smiling like a kid on Christmas morning. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Yeah yeah yeah Sherlock, we get it, I'm just lowly Watson.” Dean responded, catching the impala's keys as Sam tossed them to him. His brother continued to walk around the car, and Dean unlocked it manually. He swung down inside, almost groaning when he heard the sweet sound of the motor staring up. Oh, that was _perfect_.

“So, around four months, huh?” He asked, looking back towards the house. Sam shut the door behind him as his eyes followed Dean's. A pair of curtains on the top floor rustled. “This is clearly a werewolf problem. Do you think she has something to do with it?”

Sam thought for a moment, shrugging his shoulders. “I don't know. She doesn't seem like a bloodthirsty monster to me. But honestly, I wouldn't forget about her any time soon.”

“Seems like the safe thing to do. So, what's next?” Dean asked, turning the wheel as they pulled out. The soft blacktop underneath his tires helped to calm his thoughts.

“I'd suggest that you go back to the hotel and make sure there isn't any kind of a ritual to be preformed with something like this. Once we know it's a werewolf for sure, we'll start looking for suspects, Caroline being first on our list. In the mean time, I'll go to the police records and look at other reports from victims and see if there's anything connecting them. It might help us find the killer if there's something specific they're after.”

“Okay, that sounds cool.” Dean said. He already knew that there was no ritual to be preformed here, which meant that he would get extra time to just sit around and watch porn. Hey, just because he didn't think of other people in a sexual way didn't mean that porn wouldn't give him some fresh ideas.

Suddenly, the air felt a little too thick. Things were silent in between them, an unbroached topic on the verge of being spoken. It wasn't long until Dean couldn't take much more of it. It was just something that he was going to have to ask.

“Why did you tell that girl that we were going out?” Dean questioned. Sam paused, taking a few moments to gather his words, and Dean waited for it patiently.

“I.... I figured that we don't have to pretend, anymore. Nobody on these shithole jobs know who we are. Nobody knows that we're actually brothers, or that we're fake FBI. We don't have to hide this little bit from them. For once, Dean, telling the truth just sounds... _right._ ” Sam said, finally. Dean could sense the nervousness in his voice, the fear of rejection that he was frightened might come. But Dean wouldn't and couldn't do that to his brother, especially when his brother had just poured out a small part of his heart to him.

“I think I know how you feel.” Dean said gruffly, his hand fumbling for a few moments before it found Sam's, and he threaded their fingers between each other's. And, just because he couldn't let them have a moment like that without saying _something,_ he added, “That's pretty kinky though, that 'nobody knows' shit. We'll have to play off that sometime.”

Sam rolled his eyes and scoffed. Dean glanced over to briefly meet Sam's eyes, and he gave his brother a light wink. Okay, so maybe it was a joke, but Dean was a little bit serious. He wanted to have Sam in every way possible, and people not knowing that they were brothers,but _seeing_ the claim that he had on Sam, well... that was all worlds of hot to Dean.

~~~

Once they had done their research, it became clear that it had something to do with a little back alley bar. All of the victims had been found within four blocks of the place, and three of the four had been at the bar the nights they were abducted.

Another fun fact popped up, almost just as soon. It turned out that little miss Caroline had been at the bar on all four nights, as she made it her personal “relaxation day” around once a month. As soon as they found out, Dean was certain that his initial thoughts of her were correct. She was obviously not the cute and fluffy teenage girl she pulled off so well.

Or rather, she was plenty cute and fluffy. But, a little more fluffy and a lot less cute around that time of the month.

Since the full moon was only a couple of days away, Dean and Sam both decided that they would stay there and wait out any kind of trouble. It was only three days, and they deserved a break in the mean time. It would be better to kill her while she was a wolf-- better for both of them to not have to look into her very human eyes as they pulled the trigger. This job came with scars, but it was best to minimize the damage.

It wasn't long, though, until they were sitting in the bar, a table in the far corner reserved just for them. They sat close together-- closer than Sam would have allowed, before. But right now? Nobody knew. They all assumed whatever the hell they wanted to assume, but nobody had to know that it was his _brother's_ thigh that Dean's hand was slowly creeping upwards on, and _oh god,_

“Dean!” Sam hissed, lowering his voice as much as he could for the situation. Dean let a small chuckle escape him as Sam swatted his hand away under the table. It was already as good as too late, though; Sam was half-hard in his pants, and Dean was pretty damn determined to try this out.

Especially since he knew from past chats that this was one of Sam's kinks. One that he'd been too reserved to try, but still a fantasy nonetheless.

Dean glanced at the clock, taking note of how few people there really were in the bar. Caroline was nowhere in sight, and Dean could tell that she wasn't the type to go to the bars early in the night. She'd wait until the place was a little more lively, until the people were out and about and wouldn't judge a skinny girl alone with a dress that sat on her hips just a little too tight. She was the type to worry over public image.

“Come on, we have at least another twenty minutes until it's even sunset, dude. There's no way you can't cum before then, and until that happens there's not even a chance of making sure that it's her.” Dean said, rationally. He could already see the resolve in Sam's eyes flicker, despite the fact that he shook his head.

“Dude, this is totally your kink. You know you want to try it out, and there aren't even that many people around. I mean, I don't want to pressure you, but when will you get another chance to try out something like this, Sam? Even if somebody did notice what we were doing, there are no hunters in this town. Nobody knows.” Dean said, his voice dropping into something low and just a tad bit seductive.

Sam's eyes darkened at the words, and Dean knew that he was going to be hearing a 'yes' very soon. He literally watched Sam's crotch expand as his dick twitched in interest at the words. Of course, Dean knew he would react that way. His baby boy, his baby brother, he knew how to take care of him.

And even if other people could theoretically do it too, even if Sam could take care of himself, Dean couldn't help but feel proud of himself for it.

“God, how do I let you talk me into shit like this?” Sam questioned, running a hand over his face in exasperation. Dean smiled as his little brother reached down and very discreetly unbuttoned Dean's pants, fondling for a few seconds to confirm his suspicions that Dean was half-hard.

Dean smirked as his hands drifted downwards to where his brothers currently were on him-- he considered giving out a loud, overzealous moan just to embarrass Sammy, but unfortunately he knew that that would be grounds for Sam to immediately stop the fun. Sometimes his boy was such a killjoy.

The zipper on Sam's pants slid down, down, down as Dean tugged it open, each new small tug on the zipper setting Sam further on edge. It had been a few days since they had done anything, and Sam was “too busy” or whatever to beat off in the shower like Dean did. Dean knew that it was times like these he ought to be thankful for his habits; because he was most likely going to outlast Sam for the first time in forever tonight. That prospect was exciting.

Sam gave a small thrust of his hips upwards when Dean palmed his erection through his underwear, his hands already thoroughly down Sam's pants. For a moment, watching his brother's face go _deadly_ pale, Dean thought there was something wrong. The waitress had walked by, it turned out. Which, of course, was accentuated with a literal _throb_ of Sam's cock against his hand. Jesus fuck, the kid had it bad.

“Do you like that?” Dean asked, huskily. He scooted a bit closer to Sam, and _fuck,_ Sam had Dean's dick in his palm, how the fuck did that happen?

“Yeah, I like that.” Sam admitted, squeezing Dean's now rock-hard cock lightly in his hands. “I like that the waitress could've seen us. I like that if somebody overhears, they'll know you're _mine._ ”

Dean found his self-control quickly unravelling. Sam was fucking _struggling_ , breath catching every time Dean's hand moved against his dick. Apparently Dean had decided that enough was enough, because Sam found his dick hitting the cool air pretty soon, too. It didn't take long for his brother to set a fast pace, his hand moving up and down and up and down _just right_ as he gave a squeeze.

Sam let out a _very_ small noise, and found that holding it back simply made the problem worse. Because he had to fucking _hold back a moan,_ and _anyone could hear if he did moan_ , and all of that was almost too much for Sam. The danger and scent of Dean and the motion of their hands as they both sped up, giving into each other's desires in their own darkened corner of the room.

It may as well be their own universe, honestly. Because part of the thrill, for Sam, was the fact that he was even able to feel this way, and knowing it was all because of Dean. Knowing that the whole world could be watching them and he probably couldn't bring himself to give a fuck. Knowing that Dean wasn't afraid to do the most intimate of things in public, and that Sam found himself losing all sense when it came to something like this. Because only Dean could make him feel like it was just them, even when they were surrounded by other people.

Dean gave Sam's cock a small _squeeze_ , enjoying the knowledge that Sam absolutely loved the move, and was probably desperate. Dean slowed down his fist just a little bit more, stroking in short flicks of his wrist that always seemed to put Sam's head spinning. He gave a small, _very_ small moan in Sam's ear, teeth grazing Sam's earlobe as he did.

Sam came _hard,_ stifling a groan as his hips bucked forwards in time with his cum, some of which coated Dean's hand and some of which hit the bottom of the table. Sam came down from his high, shooting Dean a glare as he realized what his brother had done. Sam had yet, before that moment, to cum before his baby brother.

And now, he was determined to enact his revenge.

He slipped to the floor, careful not to get his own cum in his hair (no matter how hot of a sight it would make for Dean, fucking _gross_ ), and yanked Dean's pants down just a little bit further. His lips, instead of going where Dean very obviously wanted them, attached themselves to his hip bone and began to suck in a rhythmic pattern, leaving a scattering of beautiful hickeys all across his brother.

“Sam, if you're gonna mark your territory, why not just piss on me and get it over with?” Dean hissed, clearly agitated.

“Didn't know you were into that.” Sam retaliated, as he sucked another hickey up just a _little_ bit higher. All Dean could focus on for a minute was the feeling of Sam's tongue smoothing over his skin, the tingles of pleasure that seemed to be going straight to his dick.

“You know I was being sarcastic, you-” Dean's words were cut off with a sharp gasp as Sam's lips wrapped around the head of his cock, giving a small _suck_ and making Dean's head spin. His hips gave an involuntary thrust forward as his little brother sank down as far as he could, having discovered earlier that it wasn't within his ability to deep throat. It honestly didn't matter to Dean.

Sam grabbed his wrist and lead Dean's hand, still soaked with his brother's cum, up to his lips. His eyes gave the clear demand, and Dean couldn't have said no if he wanted to.

His tongue darted out to begin to lick all the cum off, the salty-bitter taste coating his palate. He felt his cock give a throb in his brother's mouth, and Sam retaliated by running his tongue along the bottom of Dean's shaft.

Sam made slow work of it; licking and nipping along Dean's dick. Dean was burning and whimpering and absolutely _hungry_ for release, just about ready to push Sammy off and do it himself. Sam's head bobbed up and down, tongue tracing veins slowly, as if he were trying to memorize the exact feel of Dean's cock in his mouth.

He gave a rough suck, and Dean's hips bucked again. Dean scooted just a little closer to the center of the seat, closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath.

The waitress was walking by again.

The danger of the situation made a fresh reappearance in Dean's mind, and suddenly, he was cumming.

He closed his eyes as he rode out the waves, fucking _hearing_ it as Sam swallowed everything he had to offer. He prayed to Cas (okay, not literally, because that would be awkward) that his face had stayed neutral as his brother finished off the last of it.

His vision still had a faint glow, and his body was still thrumming pleasantly as Sammy tucked Dean's cock back into his underwear, leaving him to pull his pants the rest of the way up and deal with all the rest.

“I hope you know you're a fucking pain in my ass.” Dean growled.

“Nope, that was last night.” Sam said, cheekily. Dean promptly rolled his eyes. Sam, of course, knew full and well that they hadn't done anything before then in what felt like far too long.

Dean couldn't believe some people couldn't see how much concentrated _sass_ the kid had.

“Yeah yeah yeah; but you know good and well it's my turn tonight.” He informed him, raising his eyebrows. Now, it was _Sam's_ turn to roll _his_ eyes.

The rest of the waiting period was spent in small talk and whitty banter, as was common for the boys. Dean let his eyes wander to the door a couple of hours later to find it swinging open, their girl standing high and mighty in the middle. She walked across the bar and sat down, the bar tender coming right over and smiling at her, recognizing her regular.

The door opened again as another customer came in, a boy a couple of years older. He walked to the corner of the room and sat in his own booth, seeming to mind his own business. Sam and Dean disregarded him in favor of watching Caroline.

She talked to a guy for about thirty minutes, clearly flirting. He was much older than her, and he seemed to be looking for one thing, if how often his eyes strayed to her chest was any kind of a tip. She batted her eyelashes and hiked her dress up just a little bit, showing some skin. Sam and Dean's gazes flickered briefly to each other's as they assessed the situation.

When she began to lead them out the door, they followed her lead. Dean took out his gun and gave Sam the signal, hearing a faint click as Sam's own gun had the safety switched to 'off'.

There was a giggle and a faint push, a playful growl as his hand worked it's way up her shirt and his whiskey-saturated breath mingled with her own. Sam and Dean shot each other a glance as a growl was given, closer to animal this time. They swung around the wall quickly, guns coming up to point at the happy couple.

A scream tore itself from the girl's all-too human lips, and the man turned around, demanding, “What the hell?”

The guns stayed up for only a couple of seconds longer before they were slowly lowered, both of them looking resigned.

“Agent Smith and Smith?” Caroline questioned, looking confused. Dean and Sam shrugged.

“Sorry to interrupt, we thought we heard something, ah, strange.” Dean explained, mentally kicking himself. That was the best damn lead that they had, (the _only_ damn lead they had) and it ended up nothing.

“What?” Caroline asked, looking put out. Sam opened his mouth and closed it several times, trying to come up with a good excuse. When it was clear he had nothing, Dean stepped forward.

But, as he opened his mouth to help clear the situation, a menacing growl sounded from behind them.

Sam and Dean both turned, guns poised at the woods. A question sounded in Caroline's voice from behind them, but neither of them was paying attention. Their eyes and ears were both trained on the small patch of trees (not quite large enough to constitute the word “woods”) as they went into full “hunting” mode. Another growl, a little closer, and Sam adjusted his angle.

A third growl, from just a little further away. Sam and Dean exchange looks. This came from an entirely different direction.

Suddenly, a man jumped out of the bushes. Well, not a man. No, this thing was far less than human. It had claws and teeth and a pair of nails so sharp they could slice through leather. Eyes locked onto the man, still hunched over Caroline, and Caroline let out a piercing scream as he ran towards her partner.

Dean was fast. It wasn't long until the man was laying on the ground, cold knocked out. He rose his hands to shoot at him, but his hand hesitated on the trigger.

There had been the other sound. There was a man killed in another spot, too, not just at this bar. A couple of towns over, (easily enough ran if you knew what you could do) people had started to go missing. This man could easily be only one part of the nest. If there were other werewolves in the area, they would need to interrogate him to find them. There was no way Dean could endanger other people by being too damn trigger-happy.

He slowly lowered the gun, and Caroline stepped forward, looking down with vague recognition.

“Bruce?” She questioned, bewildered. Well, that was another piece of the puzzle, clicking into place.

“Who's this guy? You know him?” Sam asked. Well, really, more _demanded._ It would've gotten Dean a little hot and bothered had they not just gotten off a couple of hours ago.

“Yeah, we were...” She dawned a look of realization and gasped, taking a step back. “Oh _God,_ this is all my fault, isn't it? The people who went missing, they were- it was,” She gasped for breath, tears beginning to well up in her eyes as her composure crumpled.

“No, it wasn't your fault.” Dean said sternly, hoping that she wasn't going to cry.

“He's right; you can't help that this guy was crazy. I just need information from you. Do you know if he had any friends like this?” Sam questioned. “It might be urgent.”

Caroline looked up, blinking at the sky as tears started streaming down her face. “Oh god, no, no I don't. All of this is so confusing. I can't believe I didn't put it together before.”

“Calm down. We don't have much time, and we need to get him to questioning soon. We need you to tell us what we need to know about him. Can you do that?” Sam questioned, ever the calm one. Dean stayed quiet, watching his little brother attempt to soothe the girl with calming words and tone. It seemed to work, because she took a large breath, fanning herself to regain her composure.

“He's my stupid ex. I moved towns because he was stalking me. I'd noticed him around a little bit, but I just figured that I'd go to the cops if things got to the point they were at last time. He didn't seem all that interested, but he was at the bar tonight, and-”

Upon closer inspection, Dean could see that this was, in fact, a man who had slipped into the bar earlier. He glanced between him and Caroline, trying to decide whether or not to buy it. She could be a fourth-gen or higher wolf, luring out men to their deaths for her pack. In fact, considering the entire situation, that was most likely the case.

Sam must have been thinking the same, because his hand came to root around his pocket. “I need to ask you one more thing,” He stated, pulling out the small coin he and Dean kept just for a situation like this. “Touch this for me.”

“You want me to-? How will that help anything?” She asked, incredulous. The man she was with stood silent, but no less spooked than her.

“Just do it.” Dean put in. “We're FBI, we can't answer all your questions.”

She tentatively reached out and wrapped a hand around the coin, closing her eyes and flinching a little, as if she expected something to happen. When nothing did, one eye popped open, and she pulled her hand away. “Okay, I got it. Can I just- Can I go home now? I'm sure you'll want to know more in the morning, but this is a lot to take in for me and I just-”

“Of course. We'll call you for more details when we need them.” Sam lied. They had everything that they needed; they knew a motive, had the monster, everything was in line for them. They would disappear without a trace, leaving behind only the help they'd done for the town. Of course, they would probably still flag it to Garth, to make sure somebody came and checked it out in a few months if signs were still appearing.

The girl walked back inside, followed by the man, who cast weary looks their way. Dean looked down at the unconscious body, and he sent Sam a grimace.

“I guess it's time to get this guy back to that warehouse out of town. Do you think that'll be a good place to keep him till he talks?” Dean questioned, prodding him with his foot. Sam nodded his head, eyes scanning over the body.

“I can do the questioning if you want, Dean. I know you have a hard time with-”

“No, I'm fine. Hey, what happened in hell stays in hell. It's sorta like Vegas, but with less strippers and more burning flesh.” He cut Sam off. No matter how much it hurt him to have to do shit like this, he would rather do it a thousand times than to put Sam through that.

Sam didn't quite look like he bought it, but he nodded anyways. “Alright, let's get this guy there.”

 


	3. Prettier Than it Should Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter :-)

It wasn't long before they were at the warehouse, Dean's knife sliding in long, precise cuts across the thing's skin. Screams had long ago been abandoned.

The only information they'd gotten so far was that there _was,_ in fact, a pack in the area. He'd tried to join up with them, but they'd put him on a trial basis. He absolutely refused, despite having no emotional attachment to any of the pack members, to give them it's location.

Dean tossed the knife aside with a growl as he realized that it wasn't doing any good. They would have to try some other tactic to get him to talk, maybe depriving him of food until he decided to open his mouth. He was passed out at the moment, head hanging limply forward as he unconsciously moaned in pain. Blood was dripping in steady rivets down his body, the bright red contrasting with his pale white skin. Dean looked away.

At the other side of the room, Sam stood, food in his hands. The bag was still swinging from his arms, letting Dean know that he hadn't been there very long. Or at least, he hadn't been stopped very long.

“Did he break yet?” Sam asked, frowning as he looked the victim up and down. Dean gave a sigh, rubbing his hand over his face. He felt the warm, sticky feeling of blood smearing as he pulled away.

He was too tired to force himself to rub it away.

“No, no he didn't. I'm starving, though. Did you bring anything good?” He asked. Sam nodded his head, dropping the food down onto the table, (the one that _wasn't_ covered in knives, silver, and various weapons) and gesturing towards it with one hand.

Dean dug into the bag, his interest peaking when he smelled the tell-tale scent of grease.

He had been ignoring a lot of his needs for the past few days. Sexual, emotional, physical... It would feel damn good to just take a _break_ from the monster he had allowed himself to slip back into. A little time to remind himself that he was still human, still there, still breathing and eating and there was more to life than just screams and blood.

Though, Dean couldn't deny his fondness for the substance. The thick, warm, gooey blood that dripped down the face of an exhausted victim. The satisfaction that sometimes came with shoving something through flesh, feeling muscles part in it's wake. Watching the liquid drip from your hands onto the floor could be so hypnotizing...

That shade of red was far too pretty for something so ugly.

“Dean?” Sam questioned, peering at his brother worriedly. Dean's head snapped up and his eyes met Sammy's concerned gaze.

“Sorry, just zoning.” Dean excused, waving his hand. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hoping that Sam wouldn't notice the tent in his pants.

Denying himself over the last few days had been usual for a torture session, but back then? Back then he had to be a little more creative. Now, it was all about the blood. Dean had learned that when a victim had something to fight for, life, girlfriend, or a half-assed, emotionally distant pack, it was far more effective to let them see it draining out. Hell was all pain. Up here, it's a little more psychological.

The untided rivets of red were really what got him going. As much as he hated it, as much as he couldn't force himself to look at the red and not be reminded of pain and fire and longing for anything other than what was happening, he couldn't stop the blood from flowing straight to his cock when he saw that pretty red.

He thought it might have something to do with Sam. Sam drinking the blood from Ruby, maybe. He could picture all too vividly Sam's eyes turning dark with arousal as he licked the blood off of her skin, and Dean fought off a wave of jealousy. He wanted to get Sammy's eyes to darken like that. He wanted to have him writhing with need, even if it was covered in blood and sweat.

He glanced down at the burger in front of him, the tempting smell yet again pulling him away from that place. He shook his head, hoping that he could actually concentrate long enough to eat. His hands closed around the bun and lifted it to his lips, tearing into the food.

His stomach complained at him the entire time he ate it, clenching uncomfortably. Once he was finished he felt fuller than he had in months, all the food after so long without making his body feel like he'd just attended a feast. He looked up to find Sam watching him, that concerned little crinkle in his eyebrows again.

Dean gave him a small smile, one that he hoped was reassuring.

Whether or not it was, he never found out. As soon as it was finished, a moan sounded from the other end of the room, and Dean picked up a bottle of water, crossing the floor to the newly awakened prisoner.

After all, they couldn't have him dehydrating when there was still so much work to be done.

~~~

It took two more days of hacking and cutting, silver and water and endless cycles of yelling and begging, but no information. Two more days of endless blood and sweat and dirt, two more days with no more than a handful of minutes to sleep, to calm himself, to stay centered in reality.

Two days until it was blurted out in a cracked, raw voice.

“It's up by the Canyon!” Bruce finally whispered, barely able to get that out. Dean's hand didn't seem to want to listen to him to put the blade down. A couple more inches of that pretty white skin was done by the time he could get himself to stop.

“Excuse me? You wanna say that again?” Dean prodded, raising his eyebrows. Bruce's head hung low, shoulders hunched and out of socket from the seemingly endless pulling he'd done in attempt to free himself. Of course, his wrists were covered in scabbed-over burns from where the silver, even now, wore away his skin.

Dean's hand came forward to grab his jaw, forcing his face upwards. Bruce's eyes met his, but just barely. They were glazed over with confusion and upset.

“There's a canyon, in the woods. There are two rivers that merge about half a mile west of there, a picnic area not too far away. There are four of us, including me. They've probably already left by now, though. There was another one with me, and she would have warned-”

Suddenly, he was cut off by a rough slap to the face. The silver blade had clattered to the floor as rage built up in Dean, threatening to overwhelm him.

“And you didn't think about telling us sooner because of that? People are _dying._ ” Dean snarled.

“Dean!” Came Sam's voice, distant. Dean turned to find his brother strolling through the door, cell phone in hand. “Dean, calm down. Garth had already picked up on some signs close enough that he gave me a call. I told him about the possible werewolf case and he called in some other hunters to make sure everything was taken care of while we got him. Three other ones, right?” Sam questioned, walking closer as he spoke. That last question was directed towards Bruce, who was currently spitting up blood onto the floor.

“Yeah.” Dean answered for him. Sam nodded his head.

“They've already been dealt with. We don't need to do this anymore.” Sam said, gesturing towards their prisoner. Dean felt some of the tension leave his body. Not much, but just enough for him to feel something all too human for the last few days he'd had. _Relief._

“So we're done here?” He asked, eyeing their werewolf up and down. Sam nodded his head gravely, and pressed something into Dean's hand. Dean looked down in confusion; he hadn't noticed that Sam was carrying any weapons in the first place, let alone an actual gun.

Their eyes met, and Sam nodded.

It was quick. Three bullets right between the eyes left Bruce limp and broken, looking like a rag doll that had been dipped in various cans of red pains and left to dry. Dean lowered his hands and looked at the ground, looked at the blood pooling there, and knew that he had done it. Knew that no matter what it was for, (and, in fact, it ended up being for _fucking nothing_ since the information was useless in the first place) he'd been something he never wanted to be again for the last few days.

Right now, all he wanted was to give in and do something painfully _human._

~~~

Sam was confused, at first. Confused by the large hands coming up to grab his face, confused by another body pressing against his own. Confused by his brother's tongue, which was hungrily trying to lick it's way into his mouth.

The taste of blood that came on those lips was something that just seemed all too familiar, though. Something that had him half-hard and panting for breath, something that had a curling want going through his body.

Something hard and warm pressed against his thigh and Dean started to buck his hips, eagerly searching for friction. Sam pulled away from the kiss, panting, only to find his brother's lips immediately latch to his neck. “God Sammy, I need you right now.”

“Dean, are you-” Sam's concerned question was cut off in a moan as Dean's hand came down to fondle at his crotch, finding that he was already half-hard.

“Sammy, Sammy.” Dean said softly, grabbing at the back of his brother's shirt. Sam let out a sigh as Dean's hand slipped down the front of his pants, eyes closing in contentment. Dean never said his name like that unless it was important, unless he was upset. Sam knew that whatever was going on, this would help. Dean needed the physical comfort that his brother could offer.

“Dean, what's wrong?” He asked again, giving up the fight against his body and letting his hips give a shallow buck, tilting his head to the side to allow Dean better access.

“Been craving this,” Dean said, between kisses. Sam hissed as Dean's hand began to stroke loosely up and down his cock, setting a slow, loving rhythm, “It's been too long. I want you inside me.”

Sam could feel his own dick give an interested twitch at the words. He could tell that that wasn't the whole truth, but he knew that Dean wasn't lying from the sincerity in his words. This was something he could give his older brother; this was something that came naturally to them.

How easy to get lost in sensation. How fucking simple to let Dean's lips take him somewhere else. How absolutely breathtaking to be reminded that there was still a little speck of light in this hellhole they called their life; to let Dean's hands leave trails of hope and love down his skin. There was just something about it that was just so natural.

“Dean.” He said, pushing a little bit. Dean's grip slackened, and Sam pushed him away, grabbing his chin to pull him into a _real_ kiss. As they continued it got heated, the kind of heat you got from standing in the sun for too long wearing all black. The kind of heat that settles in your bones and never leaves, the kind that kills the butterflies in your stomach with lust and want.

He turned, pushing Dean's shoulders back against the wall. His hands couldn't stay in one place; moving all up and down his brother's body, swallowing up the moans that Dean let into his mouth. And maybe it was a little rough,and maybe it was just a bit uncoordinated, but that was just the way they loved. They hadn't ever really known anything different.

Sam pulled at Dean's shirt eagerly, buttons popping off as he pawed it off his big brother's skin. He left no time for marveling at the expanse of skin left before him, but immediately began to move his nails in long, angry pulls down Dean's chest and back. Dean eagerly leaned into his fingers, needing the marks, needing the knowledge that anyone who looked at him bare would know he was _Sam's._

“God, Sammy,” Dean whimpered against his lips. One of his legs came up of it's own accord and wrapped around Sam's hips, pressing their crotches snug together. Sam's eyes darkened yet again, letting out a little gasp as he felt Dean's erection press up against his own. His teeth sank softly into Dean's lip, biting just a little harder when Dean's hips arched.

“Floor. Now.” Dean growled, forcing his leg down. Sam was more than willing to oblige, stepping away and pulling Dean down slowly, rough biting-and-licking kisses exchanged between them the entire way down. Dean let out an eager moan in the back of his throat as Sam's head moved to bite at his throat, teeth actually breaking skin and drawing blood. Sam eagerly lapped at the red substance, Dean still all except for the uncontrollable trembling of his body.

Sam moved on from there, kissing along Dean's stomach, occasionally leaving small nips or tracing his nail marks with his tongue. Dean's hands eventually unfroze from his sides, reaching down to thread his fingers through Sam's hair and giving rough pulls whenever he hit a sweet spot.

Sam moaned when Dean pulled, shudders wracking through his body and down to his toes. He gave small nuzzles of encouragement as he continued his work, until finally reaching Dean's jeans. He made quick work of the button and zipper, but took a little bit longer when he worked the pants down over his brother's erection. Dean let out a hiss as the cold air met it, and Sam blew a little hot air on the head.

Dean made a small noise as Sam's lips wrapped around the head of his cock, tongue running smoothly over the sensitive skin. Dean let out a gasp as Sam dropped down, taking in as much as he could. He sloppily licked and bobbed his head, adding in just a _little_ bit of teeth to make Dean jump. It wasn't long before Dean couldn't handle it; his head was thrashing back and forth, his hips were trying to buck upwards, (stopped by the arm Sam had laid over his stomach) and small sounds were almost constantly escaping him. Sam watched all of this through his eyelashes, loving it the most when Dean's own eyes lowered to look into his.

Finally, Dean had had enough. “ _Fuck_ Sam, just fucking _fuck me already,_ Jesus Christ,” he swore.

“Lube?” Sam questioned, coming off of his dick with a soft pop. Dean tried and failed not to look disappointed with the lack of stimulation.

“I think I have some in the duffel.” Dean said, gesturing with one hand. Sam rose to go and retrieve it, and he heard a soft _thump_ as Dean's head sagged back against the floor. He would be willing to bet everything he owned that Dean's bones felt like jelly; he would want this nice and fast, the end result being a completely mind-blowing orgasm.

Sam was entirely ready to give that to him.

He rooted through the duffel bag, finally finding the lube. He hears some shifting and movement behind him and resisted the urge to turn and see what was going on, concentrating on looking for a condom. Sure, they had both been tested, but he didn't want Dean to have to clean cum out of his ass when they finally got back to the shitty motel.

His fingers closed around the plastic package and he pulled it out, turning on his heel.

Dean had turned around while he was gone. His arms were braced against the hard cement of the floor while his legs were pushing his ass up in the air, presenting it to Sam. Sam could see his red, swollen cock was pushed against his stomach and precum was already leaking out of the tip. His mouth went dry and , for a few moments, he forgot how to speak.

“God,” He groaned, finally unfreezing himself and walking over to where Dean sat. He heard the catch in Dean's breath as he uncapped the lube, spreading a generous amount on his fingers. “You really want this, don't you?”

“Just do it already.” Dean said, gruffly.

Sam took his time in applying a generous amount of lube to the puckered hole, making sure the outside was nice and wet before he even tried to put his fingers in. Once he was certain that Dean was ready, he slid the first digit in, savouring the warm, tight muscles wrapping around him.

Dean pushed back, showing that he didn't want to take this as slow as Sam usually did. Sam put his other hand on Dean's hip to steady the rocking, adding a second finger only when he felt like Dean was ready for it. He slowly began to pump them in and out, using them to stretch.

He peppered sweet kisses along Dean's hips and lower back, urging him to relax and let his muscles open up. Small sounds of pleasure met his ears as Sam began to, every once in awhile, hit Dean's prostate dead on with his fingers. Dean continued to rock his hips back whenever this was done, but Sam didn't say anything or try to still him.

Finally, he slipped in the third finger. Dean was already panting and loose, but he just wanted to be certain that he was ready. As his fingers were working, he sloppily worked himself out of his pants and squeezed some lube onto his dick with his other hand, giving it a few small pumps to make sure it was well-coated so that he wouldn't hurt Dean.

“Sammy, come on.” Dean goaded, his voice wanton and needy. Sam felt the last dregs of his self-control shatter as he removed his fingers, rising up to his knees. His hands moved slowly along Dean's back, and Dean shuddered at the cold feeling of lube on his skin. “We don't have all day.”

Sam finally buried his head in one swift move of his hips, fingers turning into claws on Dean's skin as he forced himself to stay still, letting Dean adjust. He didn't have to wait long before Dean was pushing back, making small sounds of encouragement as Sam _slowly_ filled him, hips coming to a stop only when they were flush against his ass. He gave himself a few moments to breathe, adjusting to the feeling of Dean wrapped so snugly around his cock.

“Faster Sammy,” Dean grunted, his voice coming out just a little bit broken. Sam ignored the request in favor of slowly sliding out, the slick and heat being replaced with cold air as he did so. All the while Dean squirmed underneath him, back forming a _perfect_ arch as Sam thrust back in all at once, accidentally hitting his prostate.

“God, Dean,” Sam breathed, leaning forward to press his still-clothes chest up against Dean's back. He gave a fond lick to the shell of Dean's ear as his hips continued to work, slowly beginning to establish a more regular pace. Dean twisted just a little bit, ass clamping down on Sam's cock as Sam continued to thrust. Dean was already pretty damn close with how long it'd been since he last got off.

“Harder,” Dean pleaded, and Sam's hips stuttered with the request. He held back a small sound himself, starting to pick up the pace.

“Wanna be full? Is that it, Dean?” Sam questioned, raising his torso back up so the he could get a nice grip on Dean's hips. If Dean wanted it fast and hard, Sam was willing to give it that way. Anything for his big brother. “Are you just needy for my cock?”

“God, you never shut up,” Dean said, the jibe coming out as a moan as Sam hit his prostate. Sam smirked at it, loving the small gasp that came afterwards. Dean was starting to get to where he wouldn't be able to catch his breath; he would dissolve into small sounds and moaning and Sam's name chanted like a prayer, and there was nothing that could make Sam higher than that.

Sam picked up the speed a little more, fingers pressing into Dean's soft, warm skin as his hips rocked in and out, motions becoming more heated the more noises he was able to draw out of Dean. He could tell that already Dean was barely hanging on by a thread, his muscles twitching constantly and barely able to stop himself from rocking back onto Sam's dick.

“Sam, oh god, Sammy, please,” He mumbled, the words like music to his little brother's ears. Sammy picked up the pace just a little bit more, feeling his own burn begin in the pit of his stomach. His skin heated up and flushed as he sped, drilling into Dean with precise accuracy. It wasn't long before Dean began to clench around his cock, crying out Sam's name as he came in white streams across his own chest.

Dean's muscles spasming around his cock almost pushed Sam overboard himself; he had been too worried these last few days to touch himself or find relief, and this was all almost too much to handle. He managed to hang on for another few minutes, though, hips taking on a more gentle rhythm as he slowly fucked into Dean, no longer the animalistic mating it had been before.

He came with a long, drawn out grown, doubling over to press small kisses to Dean's back as he emptied into the condom. He pulled out with a wet _pop,_ taking off the rubber and tying it shut. He tossed it carelessly aside, not seeing the point in actually taking the time to find a trash can.

After a long moment of post-orgasmic silence, Sam smiled. “I need a shower now.”

“Wanna take one together?”

~~~

Dean loved the feeling of warm water running over his skin. It was even better when Sam was there with him, sharing in the luxury. He washed off all the layers of sweat and grime, paying attention to every single nook and cranny on his body. He almost expected Sam to gently tease him about being “high maintenance”, but he kept his mouth shut, working the shampoo through his own hair.

“Are you feeling okay?” Sam asked, after a little while. Dean paused, hands hovering over his arms, soap trailing down his skin. He knew that Sam could tell something was off. He just didn't expect him to say anything.

“I'm... I've been better. Don't really want to talk about it.” Dean mumbled, forcing his hands to pick up their motion of scrubbing the soap into his skin. He felt weak right now, and didn't want to add to that with talking about it.

“Alright. Hey, do you wanna order pizza tonight or something? I could drive to the store and get some pie, pick it up on my way back.” Sam said, casually. Dean glanced up from where he had been watching the bubbles flow down the drain, hope filling them.

“Can we get the new Captain America movie? I feel like we're the last people on earth who haven't seen it.” Dean said enthusiastically, looking forward to some snuggling on the couch and _The Winter Soldier_.

“Dude, yes. Sounds like a plan.” Sam said, stepping into the spray.

It wasn't long before they were doing just that; snuggled up on the couch and leeching warmth off of each other while the movie was playing. Several times Dean attempted to turn it into a makeout session, but Sam was just too into the movie to really get into it. Of course, not that he really minded. Watching Sam react to something that made him so happy was almost as good as the movie itself.

Dean snuggled up as much as his masculinity would allow, sides pressed up against each other as he pretended to watch the movie. Of course, soon enough he actually got into it, and actually shoved Sam off when he tried to kiss him. Sam laughed at that, shaking his head and turning back towards where Captain America and his totally gay best friend were fighting.

“You know Sammy, if you dyed your hair and smeared your eyeliner, you'd look just like him.” Dean hummed against the skin of Sam's neck. Sam had amazing concentration skills; he could concentrate on the movie, even with Dean's lips working to suck a hickey into his neck.

Of course, the boner he had developed didn't go unnoticed. Dean would have done something about it if he hadn't been so into the movie too; hickeys could be given in the span of minutes. Something else would have required more concentration and a great deal more time.

“Shut up.” Sam mumbled, throwing an arm lazily around Dean. Suddenly, Dean softened.

“You know you make me human, right?” He said, forcing the words out of his mouth before he could chicken out. Dean pulled his lips off Sam's neck just before Sam turned, his eyebrows drawing upwards in confusion. “Even when it's the goddamned apocalypse, or Cas dying, or whatever the hell else we might come up against, I feel like you keep me grounded. You remind me of what it was like when mom was here.”

“Dean,” Sam said, surprise lighting up his face. “I don't even know what to say.”

“I didn't either, for awhile.” Dean admitted, laying down across Sam's lap. Sam threaded his fingers through Dean's hair, a comforting gesture. God, he'd been hanging all over Sam tonight, and he was more than grateful that Sam didn't actually care. He needed Sam like he needed air; he needed Sam to remind him of what it was like to be _human._ He needed to know that the slicing-and-dicing monster he'd turned into today with the werewolf wasn't really who he was. Sam offered all of that and more.

“You know, you do the same for me. There are times when I feel like you're the only good thing that's left in the world. I've tried to make it work with other people, but none of them felt _right._ ” Sam mumbled, after a few moments of silence. Dean felt a warmth spreading through his chest, nice and melty and absolutely ready to turn him into goo. “You're the only one I can depend on.”

“That's not healthy.” Dean pointed out, just a little dash of concern lining his words. He knew the end would come for him before it would come for Sam, and he wanted Sam to be able to move on when that happened. He wasn't going to be there forever. He _couldn't_ be there forever.

“When have we ever been healthy?” Sam asked, letting out a small chuckle. Dean shrugged. He'd give him that.

“Sam?” Dean asked, a couple of minutes later. Sam made a small sound of acknowledgment, not taking his eyes off of the TV screen.

“I l-” Dean tried to force himself to say it, but the words got caught in his throat. Sam looked at him with wide eyes, knowing what he meant.

Dean tried again, but with the same, choked-up effect. Sam leaned in and kissed him then; tongues and teeth and the sweet taste of each other mixing up with emotion. Dean put everything he was trying to say into that kiss, and if he wasn't mistaken, Sam got the damn message.

“I know. You don't have to say it.” Sam mumbled, against his lips.

And suddenly, Dean didn't feel like he had to.

 


End file.
